The Service Industry

The holiday season seems to bring every type of individual out of their houses and into restaurants for celebratory meals. Amongst the diversity of colorful characters is an overabundance of inexperienced weekend-diners(1) who bring Sunday-tips(2) into PF Changs. For instance, yesterday night a woman with far too much botox injected into her face, a man overly enthusiastic about the presence of Amstel on tap, and their two All-American catalog looking children came in and asked for chicken nuggets and fries. Let me remind you that I work at a restaurant that serves Asian-American food-- the definition of Asian-American in this case, if you've ever spent time in the US, does not mean all-American burger joint, but American influenced Chinese food-- so Chinese dishes with prepared in such a way that offer a glimpse into the culture of the United States. In short, not McDonalds. To accommodate the demands of this table, I managed to modify one of our dishes (honey chicken made with no sauce) and put an order in for pseudo-chicken nuggets. While the family was enjoying their appetizers, the sweet American poster child boy who's picky stomach could only eat "chicken nuggets"started to scream and throw shit across the table because he was growing restless in anticipation for some Ronald produced food. After dodging two chopsticks which were speared at me, I put a super-rush order on his dish which came out in less than three minutes (Thank you, Mike). I even brought ketchup to the table as requested by mother Barbie (ketchup.... chinese restaurant... really??). Throughout the meal, I had to replace their two kids kids-drinks three times each because they kept dropping them underneath the table. When I brought the dessert tray over for the All-American family to look at, the little prince threw (--as in just short of body slam) his body at the tray I suppose in hopes of claiming each choice for himself. At the end of the meal, the mommy dearest paid with a gift card and left me a ten dollar tip... on a ninety dollar meal. If you're ever a guest at my table and I end of the meal explicitly saying "here's your change for your bill of X amount"-- that means I clearly think that you need need the money more than I do if you're going to short me so much that I end up having to pay out of my pocket at the end of the night when I'm checking out.

As servers at Chang's, company policy is that we can only force gratuity on parties of 8 or more. Yesterday, I had a seven top come in and ask for individual checks. After asking for separate checks, they each ordered a water. Then, in roughly five minute increments, they would individually put in soft drink orders, making sure to catch me when I was talking to another table, or right after I had just ran to get something for someone else at their table. They also refused to order until some "Shirley" character arrived-- apparently the birthday girl. She didn't arrive for an hour. When they finally did order, there seemed to be a group consensus that clearly all Chinese restaurants served the exact same dishes; as a result, they started to describe random dishes that they've eaten at other establishments that offer Chinese food and try to put those down as their orders. With all the patience in the world, I- as best as I could- tried pairing their descriptions with what was actually on our menu. In the end, the best compromise I could get out of them was to modify each of our dishes so that orders came out like "Buddah's Feast (one dish) but with Cantonese shrimp (a separate dish) garlic sauce instead of stirfry sauce, add shrimp, and extra Kung Pao Chicken (yet another separate dish) brown sauce with no peanuts on the side." In the end I got a four dollar tip on their eighty some dollar meal which lasted going on two hours long.

The next story I have for you, I wasn't actually present for, so much of it may just be hearsay. Apparently some guy sat down at the bar with a gift bag of stuff, presumably coming in after shopping at the mall. He then ordered a few beers. When they arrived, he got up from where he was sitting, walked out with them. The bartender assumed that he would be back because he had left his gift bag there. He didn't. When the bartender looked inside the giftbag, it was nothing more than a bag stuffed with paper.

That is not to say, however, that decent people and kind souls hibernate during the holiday season. For two or so days I kept getting ridiculously nice tips (as in 35-50% gratuity), so I guess all the ridiculousness I dealt with last night was arguably just karma. There are those people who are super friendly, hold great (but courteously short) conversations, and are really easy going who I want to just give free food to because they fuel the perseverance necessary to work in service industry. The perfect costumer will return the server's readiness to serve by being prepared to present the entire order when asked. If and when they need something throughout the course of the meal, the perfect costumer will kindly make sure that all favors are listed at one time so that the server isn't sent running suicides between the kitchen and the other end of the restaurant. At the end of the meal, tip calculation should not even be an issue as the costumer will have already taken into consideration how much money they have on hand-- meaning, they ordered a dish within their budget that would also enable themselves to offer a suitable tip (which at PF Chang's is usually 20%). If they are super nice and cognizant of the functioning of the food industry, they will leave a cash tip (but no coins) so that the waiter can lose less during tax season.

Dorothy, you ask, why are you so pressed on how much tip you receive? Because servers are not paid per hour. We "receieve" a little over $3/hr, but see absolutely none of it as it all goes towards taxes. At the end of the shift, we have to pay out 3% of what we sold-- not 3% of what we made in tips-- to the back of the house for the food runners, etc. Also, servers have to pay an additional $3 per shift for silverware. Therefore, if you do not tip me for the food you ate (as is the case for many foreign costumers), I end up paying out of my pocket. What, Dorothy? That's craziness! Yes, dear readers, it has nearly happened before. July 4th 2006, I believe, I had exactly one table before I was cut because it was just that slow. The bill came to be just over fifty dollars. They gave me a nine dollar tip, not bad. But because of the circumstances, I had walked out with less money than what I came in with (if you factor in gas money). What happened? I had to pay $3 for silverware to the back of the house + 3% of what I sold (you round up, so I had to pay 3% of $100).

When I hit a lull, I like to ask other servers if there's anything I can help them with; I expect to end up busing someone's table, perhaps greeting a party for them, or running some food for the food runners. Apparently, in the midst of holiday madness, this is not the case. Perhaps as a result of the slightly unbearable costumers, the service staff occasionally exhibits signs of insanity. After asking one gentleman if there was anything I could get for him, he responded with "Jesus." After asking a costumer the same question, she said "an epidural".

(1) As opposed to week-day regulars who have enough familiarity with the food service industry to know waiter-costumer etiquette. Weekend-costumers are high-maintenance, cheap, and obnoxiously rude.

(2) On Sunday afternoons and evenings, usually around the time church lets out, an influx of properly dressed families come in, act like typical weekend-diners, and offer very little more than a verbal tip at the end of the meal.

its the holidays?

Three day count down until my relatives leave. My feelings on their departure? Well, I just declared a count down, so you figure that one out. I will, however, miss having meals already prepared and the house always clean. Once they leave, I'll have to some how figure out a schedule that will fit waitressing, house-keeping, preparing meals for my father, and other miscellaneous errands together in harmony. The word choice of 'Harmony' probably well reflects the fact that I have no idea what I'm getting myself into. Regardless, I'm really looking forward to walking around the house and actually feel like its my own house.

The biggest hindrance in my life right now are probably my wisdom teeth. I think I've finally convinced my dad to take the morning off and shuttle me back and forth between the procedure, but its not signed and sealed so I'm still mildly worried that I'll be high on laughing gas with no transportation home. After my consultation with the surgeon the other day, I concluded that I'm in good hands (at least for the surgical portion): she graduated from U of Chi, volunteered her specialty in many southeast Asian countries, and actually knew what the fuck I was talking about when I tried explaining how my personal life completely complicates this procedure. She was amazingly attentive- she was careful to pick out prescription drugs (for after the surgery) that would not interact with Mefloquine (though, I guess she would be otherwise liable if she didn't..); she understood my hesitation after she asked if I would have someone to drive me to and from the operation; and she even reassured me that the cold (that I made no mention of) that I'm suffering from was just due to jetlag and the transition back to the US-- and most importantly, that I'd be better soon. She's basically the first doctor (okay, oral surgeon) I've ever met who's played the caring role of nurse and I'm eternally grateful to her because I really wish my mom was here. I am getting all four pulled January 6th, 9:00am. I turn 21 January 8th. The doctor tried making me feel better by saying that all the prescription pain killers I would be on would basically make me feel drunk 24/7. Sounds good to me-- I'll just celebrate my birthday when back at Grinnell :)

The other night I got caught in the freezing rain trying to get to Georgetown. I showed up completely shaking from the cold and drenched to the core, but all was better after we hit the piano room and I could just sit back and listen to Yoshi play. In Senegal I never had the time to simply sit and appreciate the music, you were always expected to dance along with the tom toms. Artistically (not that I should really be creating the division), all that's left for me to do in the US that I missed out on in Senegal, is to paint. I miss painting so incredibly much-- but I'm sure Ill have a good time with that when I'm recovering from the surgery and high on vicadin.

I started up work again at PF Chang's; nothing all too eventful has happened yet-- though I think Im working a double on Christmas Eve. When I worked two nights ago, a party of 324903824 women asked to each get individual checks. I gave them the dirtiest look and they realized that that was one really stupid request, apologized, paid, and gave me (and Wayne, who split the party with me) an extra $30+ tip on top of what we already grat-ed them. In retrospect, maybe my dirty look wasn't so dirty more so as a puppy dog, I-may-cry-look.

"transitioning" back to life in the US

When Im done, Ill have put up just about all the photos I took in Senegal: http://picasaweb.google.com/dsheuu/Senegal#

Thanks to Senegalese culture, I'm now used to be around tons of people all the time. Before leaving for Senegal, I liked my solitude, independence, personal space, and time for reflection. Every time my family (as in DC one) had guests over (which was honestly every single week, if not twice or more) , I would just hang out in my room or go out. Post-Senegal, Ive moved my laptop onto the kitchen counter so that I can be in the room where my relatives like hanging out. My dad asked me today what I was doing here-- here, actually in the presence of others. Man, pre-Senegal Dorothy was so anti-social in comparison to post-Senegal Dorothy.

Oh, btw, though I'd just throw it out there that while sifting through the documents my mother left behind for me, I noticed that she scheduled to get my wisdom teeth removed 2 days before my 21st birthday. This is not a laughing matter.

House guests, are... house guests. A fun distraction, a bit high maintenance, lively, and time consuming. Ive done nothing so far other than shuttle them from place to place, helping them locate whatever thing they need around the house, and basically trying to balance putting my life back together while serving their needs. The experience would be less taxing if my aunt wasn't so freaking racist. All she does is refer to people by their skin color, worship l'Occidental, and talk about God. Some of the things that comes out of her mouth (like, for instance, the fact that apparently chinese women should be wary of white men because once married, the white man- due to his superiority- will treat the chinese woman as a slave, or, better yet, that America's economy is plummeting because the people of the US have turned their back to God) really gets underneath my skin. She's one of those types of ladies who, no matter how much you try knocking sense into her, she just can't be won over-- she'll throw even more nonsensical arguments back at you to justify her position. Then, after you argue with her, she will turn around and call up every fucking person she knows and tell them that you were not raised properly and don't fear God. If my disagreement with her perspective is a manifestation of audacity in place of fear, then I believe the woman just committed blasphemy. To get me through the day, I just turn up the volume and let Pandora blasting through my headphones drown out her banter.

Oh my goodness I missed Pandora SOOO badly in Senegal.

On the bright side, sort of, the last remaining cousin flew in today and with her she brought a dvd of the funeral. With all the other members of the family who also could not back it to Australia in time, we watched it together.

On a completely different note and subject, I fbook chatted Rand yesterday and she was telling me about her life in Iraq. She mentioned someone threw a shoe at Bush while he was visiting Baghdad yesterday. Hearing it from Rand already put a smile on my face, but it took seeing the actual video clip on CNN today of Bush dodging two flying shoes to make me laugh out loud.

Sheu has landed

I still cant wrap my mind area the fact that I just spent three going on four months in Senegal. At the same time, I still cant believe that I am back in the United States.

One of the luckier students, I guess, my flight back home was pretty short. The group had begun to exchange goodbyes throughout the week, as some were going to Morocco, others staying prolonged in the country, another leaving early to Norway, and the rest of us home to the US in one flight. After the bulk of the group said their final goodbyes on the airtrain in Kennedy, Robbie and I walked to United to catch flights to DC. After leaving my Dakar residence at 11pm, I finally got off the plane at Dulles a little after 11am.

Erika and Kristina were at baggage claim waiting for me-- I love their dear hearts so so so much. Words cannot express how much it meant (and means) to me that you guys came to pick me up. Had I had to take a taxi alone home on top of everything else going on with my (real) family and with the tearful Senegalese goodbyes (with my Sebi family for the very least), the taxi driver probably would have had to awkwardly sat through a long ride of me bawling my eyes out.

We went straight from the airport to Cheeburger Cheeburger where we ordered three
milkshakes (frozen mint hot chocolate, pumpkin, and holiday something), three burgers, and a basket of onion rings and fries. I walked away so full that each step I took literally was followed by sharp pangs of pain in my abdomen.

Seeing silly little things that I took for granted before leaving for Senegal quickly reduced me to an overly giddy two year old: plush green grass, smooth roads, stoplights, and shiny new cars were just a few of the things that caused my heart to race. Culture shock hasn't really hit me yet-- not in an emotional manner yet, anyways. I think the stark contrast between life in Senegal and my current reality in the dc metropolitan area have furthered this sense of surrealism that I had been battling in my last week of Dakar.

When I walked into my house, I was greeted by two unfamiliar faces which with context I figured out to be I guess my cousin's daughters. Trailing behind them were my aunt, uncle, cousin, and Leo. I have another cousin who is still in transit, on her way over. With my mom gone, the minute I walked through the garage door, I took on her normal role; after saying hi to everyone, I checked up to make sure that all their rooms were properly equipped, shifted through all the mail to look for bills to pay, sorted through my dirty clothes and everyone else's which had been starting to pile up and started a load of laundry, entered appointments into my moleskin, and searched hopelessly for my cellphone-- which I still have yet to find.

For a little over the next week, you will find me living in this closet in which I am writing this blog-- because of all the relatives here, the only available room in the house is conveniently my dad's walk-in closet. I use the word conveniently because it is also the warmest part of the house-- I don't know what the architect did when he constructed the house, but that half size room never gets cold-- basically, a perfect transition between the 80 degree Senegal weather and this minus zero degree celcius business in DC.

One of the many things that Ive sincerely missed while being in Senegal, I'm ashamed to say, is my laptop. But now that I'm back at home, I am struggling to use the darn thing because Ive grown so used to the French keyboard. Really, what im getting at is that I have nothing to complain about and life is beautiful.

am I in a coma? why haven't I woken up yet?

From Thanksgiving until after I get back to the States my life has been and will be a rollercoaster of emotions. Saying goodbye is going to be really tough-- i still haven' quite registered that I am actually leaving and that leaving means possibly never seeing my families here ever again.

I felt so proud of myself, feeling all independent Saturday morning after I managed to get myself and my 50+ lb internal frame backpack (and two coconuts and two grapefruits which i bruoght back for my host family) back to Dakar without getting mugged or spending more than 550 fCFA (pennies over a dollar). I was so proud that I had mastered the Senegalese transportation system, that I spoke enough languages to get me by, and that I had lived here long enough to know the back streets of this country's capital.

Then I got a phone call from my mother and hated the fact that I was here and hated that I was knocked off my high horse left feeling so helpless. I called the administration of the program begging them to consider letting me leave early-- they were sympathetic but seemingly equally as devoid of control as myself. Their logic was simple, fair, and understanding. My circonstances were timestamped, costly, and sudden. If I can find a plane ticket- one that is even remotely within reason concerning cost- I will be leaving Dakar, Senegal Thursday evening for Australia. The chances are slim that I manage to find anything that will get me there in time, so really, I can with 75% certainty say that I will be back on US soil the 14th of December.

Today after a semi group reunion, a couple of us adventured downtown to look for Peterson street, rumored to be the Chinatown of Senegal. When we got there we found that it was basically just a market run by Chinese people. This was absolutely nothing to be upset over, as Eva, Licia, and myself managed to get shittons of free stuff. All the vendors were pretty surprised to see two Asian faces (though some told me they thought Licia was Asian too) on the opposite side of the counter. Most Chinese people in Senegal are here on business, usually the ones who stock all the merchandise that are sold in the markets here. It all started when Licia and I bought earrings for 200-250 fCFA a pair (50 cents) from one vendor who I spoke to in Mandarin. While walking away, Eva and Licia saw a yellow clutch and white pair of sandals at the counter of some other shop they they liked. Speaking in Mandarin again, I tried getting them both together for 1000 fCFA. The guy behind the counter gave them to us for free.

Then, the most unbelievable encounter was with this one guy which I actually ended up taking a picture with because I could not believe that he was so nice. He told us we could have anything we wanted. I thought he was joking and told him to give me a plastic bag so I could take the rack of earrings with me. He was not. He handed me a bag and while I unbelievingly filled up on earrings, he pulled out a couple more pieces of bagged jewelry from behind the counter and gave those to me too. He also handed Eva this silver snake Egyptian looknig wrap around thing (wow, coudl I be any worse at describing it?) for free. Its usually sold for 8000 fCFA (though only 16 USD, 8000 fCFA is worth quite some bit here).

Tomorrow morning probably around 6am or so I am going to try leaving Dakar again back to Sébikotane where I will be spending Tabaski. I hope to God that I can actually find transportation, though I know it will be unfathomably difficult. Inshallah.

Crude.. Sénégalese women.... in the same sentence?!

I was all proud five or so minutes ago, putting my finishing thoughts on my final paper for the program... only to do a word count on the google document to find that it was only 7 pages. My paper is supposed to be 20. I almost cried. Instead, I decided to blog rather than continue on. Good life decision, I know.

On Saturday, my host sisters came home from Koranic school to tell me that they spent the early morning blockading the nationale highway. Apparently, all the students as a form of protest, blocked just about all traffic going north and south of the country of Senegal. I am so proud of them! As of yesterday, there have been gendarmes on the road right outside the health clinic flagging cars down that are driving too quickly.

Sunday I took a mini excursion to Dakar to do some last minute shopping before leaving the country. I realized late last week that with how the program is arranged around Tabaski, and with me travelling back and forth between Dakar and Sébikotane (im spending Tabaski in Sébi), ill have little to no down time if I want to spend any time with my host family in Dakar. When I got to the market, I was surprised that almost all the vendors I had talked to from past visits remembered my name. They also remembered the fact that I bargained the hell out of their prices... which is probably why they remembered my name. I ended up buying two pairs of jeans for 10,000 fCFA total, twenty bracelets for 1500 total, and a baobab pendant for 1000 fCFA. Oh, and a milkshake at N'ice Cream as well :)

Going off the topic of names, my host family here has given me many. The most amusing is a tie between "sheu-perman" and "jiaye funday (something along the lines of big ass from what ive gathered)". Also, from the first night I was here, my family named me "Aminanta", which just so happens to also be the name of the mother of the prophet Mohammed. Im pretty content. Everyday when I walk home from work, the little kids scream "Aminata, Aminata, fatuum na?" Fatuum na is Sereer for nanga def which is Wolof for (sort of) how are you?

Today because there was once again very few patients at the clinic, I walked with Ndiaye, Aida, and Eva (the second and third names being that of the two french nurses who just arrived) to the maternity ward. I was hesitant to go at first because 1) it was dafa taaaaaaaang (fucking hot) and 2) really far. In the end, my supervisor gave me the command to go, so I went. In retrospect, Im glad I did. Along the way, NDiaye stopped by what felt like every freaking house we walked past. Once again, Im glad it happened. The houses we visited just so happened to be the houses of many of the patients Ive seen over the past month. I was equally as excited to see them as they were to me.

At the maternity ward, we initially got a surprisingly cold welcome. After we got talking some bit, we somehow got on the topic of husbands and when I was asked how many I would have, being the loudmouthed Grinnellian that I am, I said I wanted two-- if Sénégalese men can have multiple wives, and if men and women by law have the same rights in Sénégal, then I want to make the most of my rights. This sent the room into an uproar-- all the sage femmes started laughing so hard that I almost by impulse covered my ears because it was so loud. They then very suggestively asked me what I would do with the two husbands... and followed by gesturing penetration with their hands. Yes, these were Sénégalese women who did this. They then said that I would be busy all day-- taking one husband in the morning, and one husband at night. I, too, was laughing along with them while NDiaye, Aida, and Eva turned bright red. In the end, the cold atmosphere was broken and we all walked away smiling.

And to very, very randomly end this post... I really miss buffalo wings.